


Lost in Paradise

by ununpentium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self Harm, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununpentium/pseuds/ununpentium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want to tell me what’s wrong, Princess?”</p>
<p>Sherlock drew in a deep, shuddering breath.</p>
<p>“The dog’s back.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick piece. Self insert, really, I needed to write something where I'd have a protector like Lestrade.

It had been a long day and Lestrade was lying on his sofa contemplating having a shower before bed. He was trying to muster up the strength when he heard the tell-tale scraping against his front door that meant Sherlock was outside, picking the lock. When the sound stopped and Sherlock did not materialise, however, Lestrade padded over to the door and peered through the spy hole. He couldn’t see anyone outside. Frowning, he cautiously opened the door.

Sherlock was sitting with his back against the wall next to the door to Lestrade’s flat with his head in his arms and his knees drawn in tight to his chest.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade crouched down next to Sherlock and gently placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t get into your flat,” Sherlock mumbled into his arms. He was trembling and Lestrade was starting to panic.

“You never have a problem getting into my flat. I know that because you turn up with alarming frequency when I’ve just got out of the shower. In fact you’re about ten minutes early today, I was just about to have one before bed.”

Sherlock did not respond.

“Come on, lets get you inside.” Lestrade placed his hands under Sherlock’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. Sherlock swayed on his feet and looked at Lestrade through bloodshot eyes. Lestrade swore under his breath and helped Sherlock inside, steering him towards his bedroom. Sherlock crawled under the covers and Lestrade’s chest ached; Sherlock looked every inch like a lost little boy. Lestrade sat down next to Sherlock and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong, Princess?”

Sherlock drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“The dog’s back.”

Back when Lestrade and Sherlock first became, well, whatever they are, _boyfriends_ doesn’t sound quite right and neither does _lovers_ , Sherlock had sat Lestrade down and warned him about his black days. Depression. Sherlock referred to them as like a dog that kept following him around; always in his line of sight, reminding him of what was lurking under the surface, until it caught up with him and he’d get into his bed and not get out for five days. Thankfully these days were rare and Lestrade’d only witnessed them twice before in their three year relationship.

Lestrade rubbed soothing circles into Sherlock’s back. Sherlock responded well to tactile stimulation, it gave his mind something to focus on instead of the dark thoughts swirling around.

“How long has it been coming on?”

“Couple of months. I was ignoring it, pushing myself to keep going. I realise now it was a mistake. I feel so awful, Greg.” Sherlock had started shaking again and fat tears were dripping down his face. Lestrade gently pulled back the covers and climbed into bed behind Sherlock, wrapping himself around him, arms and legs providing just the right amount of pressure that Sherlock needed to feel safe and not crowded.

“Want to tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours? Maybe it’ll let some of the darkness out if you share it with me.”

“Hopeless. I am utterly hopeless. I feel broken and, god. Terrified. It’s crept into my bones and I’m so fucking scared.” Sherlock had screwed his eyes tight shut, as if he were in great physical pain. Lestrade ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s arm, from the tips of his fingers right up to his shoulder and back. This calmed Sherlock down slightly and he opened his eyes, peering up at Lestrade.

“You won’t leave me, will you Greg?”

Lestrade’s breath caught in his throat.

“’Course I won’t, Princess. I’ll always be here for you and don’t you forget that. I love you.”

“I know you do. I just- I can’t. It doesn’t get through when I feel like this. I’m falling, Greg, I’m falling and I’m going to hit the ground sooner or later. I feel like I’m dying.”

Lestrade hadn’t noticed he was crying until a tear trickled down to the corner of his mouth and he tasted the salt. He licked it away and pressed his entire body to the back of Sherlock’s.

“I’ve got you, Sherlock. I’ve got you.”

Sherlock’s breathing was starting to even out as he was succumbing to sleep.

Lestrade felt angry. With who, he couldn’t say. He just felt angry that someone as brilliant as Sherlock could feel so horribly alone and frightened. He wished that he could carry it for Sherlock so Sherlock didn’t have to. He’d swap places with Sherlock in an instant if he could, so that he were the one crying and shaking and breaking into tiny pieces if it meant Sherlock would be spared. It broke his heart watching Sherlock become so frightened. Lestrade pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck and quietly arranged himself so that he could keep a vigil over Sherlock until he awoke in the morning. He was Sherlock’s protector, and he’d watch over Sherlock every single night for the rest of their lives if it meant Sherlock felt even the smallest bit more secure.


	2. Hold me near you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter wanted to be written. I don't know if I will write any more or not, it's more of a way to understand what's going on with my life at this moment. It's not a happy time.

It had been three days since Sherlock turned up at Lestrade’s door, almost dumbstruck with sadness. Sherlock had remained in bed for almost all of that time, only leaving to use the toilet, and even then he walked with the gait of a pensioner. Lestrade felt his heart break a little bit more every time he looked at Sherlock curled in on himself in the expanse of Lestrade’s bed. John had texted to ask where Sherlock had got to this time and Lestrade had responded only to say that Sherlock was safe, but Lestrade was now thinking that it was time to get some outside help. Sherlock was never depressed for this long and Lestrade was worried sick.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade gently shook Sherlock’s bony shoulder until Sherlock opened his red rimmed eyes.

“What d’you want?” Sherlock’s voice was thick with sleep.

“I wanted to see how you’re feeling, Princess. You’ve been sleeping a lot. Are you up to having a shower and some toast?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and licked his dried lips. Even the action of doing that seemed to be a gargantuan effort.

“No. Let me sleep.”

Lestrade sighed and picked at his fingernails.

“I’m really worried about you. You’ve been asleep for near enough three days and I’ve noticed the raw wounds on your thigh where you’ve been scratching in your sleep. I think you should see a doctor, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face screwed up as he cried silently, almost as if he didn’t have the energy to release any actual tears. Sherlock rolled onto his back and placed an arm over his face.

“No no no no. Let me be, why can’t you just let me be? I told you I was falling. I’ve hit the floor but I don’t want to get up again. I can’t. Let me be. Let me be.” Sherlock’s body was shaking as he struggled to breathe in-between racking sobs. Lestrade felt helpless as he stood over Sherlock, watching his partner fall apart.

“I promised you I’d never leave you. Do you remember? I’m not going to leave you, Sherlock. I’m going to ring a doctor and we’ll get this sorted, okay? I promise we’ll get you feeling better.”

Lestrade refused to start crying, because once he started he wouldn’t stop. He’d seen Sherlock’s dog days before, but they were always over after 36 hours. This time Sherlock looked like he was on his deathbed, like he’d given up. It scared Lestrade right to the very core.

Sherlock had started to wail, making distressed noises that were not quite words, his arm was still flung over his face. Lestrade once again climbed into bed next to Sherlock and ran his hands lightly up and down Sherlock’s side, letting him know he was there.

Lestrade reached for the phone on his nightstand and dialled the doctor’s surgery nearest to his flat.

“Hi, I need a house visit. My partner’s having some kind of breakdown and he’s not eating or getting out of bed and I can’t get through to him.”

Sherlock bit down on his arm, hard.

“Fuck, sorry, he’s hurting himself. I think he’s scared of you coming to visit. Can you hurry? I live in the new apartment building on Cromwell road, just opposite Tesco. Yeah, flat 29. Cheers.”

Lestrade threw the phone down onto the bed and tried to wrestle Sherlock’s arm away from his mouth. By the time he managed to, Sherlock had bitten very deeply and blood was dripping down his arm.

“What the fuck are you doing? Hold on for a bit longer, I’m getting you some help. Please don’t do that… please, Sherlock, don’t hurt yourself. It’s killing me to see you like this.”

Sherlock lay on his back, shuddering, allowing the tears to flow down his face where they ran in rivulets until they dripped onto the pillow beneath his head.

“It helps the pain in my head. It’s consuming me Greg; it’s eating me up from the inside. If I turn it into physical pain then it helps, gives me something to concentrate on.” Sherlock was starting to get hysterical again. “Oh fuck, fuck, Greg, make it stop, fuck, just let me fucking die.”

Lestrade made soft, soothing noises and covered Sherlock back up with the duvet. He placed gentle kisses behind Sherlock’s ear.

“I know it hurts, Sherlock. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Sherlock turned to face Lestrade, his face screwed up with pain and fear.

“It’s already happening.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song of the same name by Evanescence.


End file.
